Now
by HomeschoolGirl
Summary: You knew them then. But how about ten years later? A HOA series of character oneshots.
1. Nina

Hi There!

So...I'm basically just writing this for fun. It's a mix of oneshots about the House of Anubis gang ten years from where Season 2 left off. (Season 3 anyone?) I'll admit: HOA is my weakness. :P It's awesome, and it's fun. It's a lot like a soap opera. :D

So, this is just the first oneshot. Written quickly. Enjoy!

-Homey

**Disclaimer:** HOA belongs to Nick and anyone else who has anything to do with it's creation. I'm just a Jara fan! ;)

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

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><p><strong>Nina<strong>

She closes her book and looks up as footsteps sound down the hall.

"Hello," he says, coming into the room.

She blushes, keeping her eyes on the floor. "You caught me."

"So I did." He strides forward and plucks the book from her hands. She watches as he thumbs through the pages, scanning the margins where she's taken the liberty of writing her own footnotes.

"I'm glad you're back at it," he says at last, handing it back.

She takes it, ducking her eyes. "Hardly. It's...it's just for fun."

"Well, perhaps I could join you in writing it sometime."

She smirks as he leans against her desk, tilting her chin up with one finger.

"Hey. I'm not kidding."

Her smirk fades into a half-smile. "Yeah. Sure. We'll never have it published, anyway, it doesn't matter."

She begins to turn away but her catches her face in his hands.

"We might. It's good."

His gaze is unwavering, and finally she beams.

"You really think it's good?"

"Yup."

"Well, thanks."

She stands up and puts the book back on the shelf positioned by her desk. She walks from the room and he follows her, down to the kitchen, where she pulls leftovers from the fridge.

"Is this okay?"

He nods. Living on teachers salaries often leads to meals such as these.

"So," she sighs, popping the styrofoam lid and spooning the spaghetti out onto two plates. "How was work?"

"Fine," he says, casually leaning against the counter. "You?"

"Fine."

They exchange timid, teasing smiles.

They don't speak again until they are halfway through dinner, but this is how it usually is for them. Easy. Safe. Predictable. It's not everything she wants, but it's everything she needs. Which is enough.

"I heard about a new position this evening."

"You did?" She asks around a mouthful of food. She chews and swallows, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. "What for?"

"Sixth grade English."

"What? Are you kidding me?" She jumps up, smoothing back a lock of his brown hair, somehow managing to high five him at the same time. "You've got to apply for the job. You'd be perfect!"

"I know. But I like teaching the fourth graders."

She gives him a flat look, and he grins.

"Okay, so, history isn't exactly my thing."

She grins, heading over to the sink to rinse off her plate. "But it is mine."

And it is. Whereas he used to be the history geek, she has taken over, and is now studying Egyptology. He moved onto writing and other pursuits. So when she began the book, over a year ago, he helped. But work got control of them both and she put it on hold. Tonight was the first night in over six months that she'd touched the manuscript, much less looked at it.

They end the day curled up on a couch with some sort of cheesy comedy playing on the TV. Outside of their apartment, London is busy, even though it's around nine. Somehow she drifts off in his arms and wakes with a start.

"Ouch," he says softly, as she bumps her head into his chin.

"Ouch," she agrees, then realizes it's dark. "Hey-what happened to the movie?"

He shrugs. "You feel asleep, so I turned it off." He holds up something in his hand and she sees it's a remote.

"Oh," she mumbles. "Okay."

He laughs as she snuggles up against him. "Aren't we going to bed?"

"I'm too tired to move."

His arms snake around her, pulling her close. "It's okay. This is actually a pretty comfortable position."

She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"I love you, Fabian."

"I love you, Nina."


	2. Alfie

Hi Guys!

Another chapter for ya! Enjoy! :)

-Homey

**Disclaimer: **HOA belongs to who it belongs to! ;)

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

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><p><strong>Alfie<strong>

He heads backstage after yet another night of crash and burn comedy. People filter past him, oblivious to the defeated man, as he takes another drink of water. Fleetingly, he finds himself wishing it were something stronger.

Making people laugh used to be so easy. He knew he wanted to do it forever from the time he was little. Occasionally his antics got annoying, especially during his high school years, but people always laughed. Now, he thinks that maybe they were laughing _at_ him. Good old Alfie Lewis, a total joke.

He quit believing in himself after she left. He woke up one morning to find her packing everything, darting around the room so quickly her hair flew out and stirred the stale air with the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

"I'm so sorry," she'd said through teary eyes. Alfie watched, emotionless, as she stuffed another blouse into her already bulging suitcase. "I can't do it anymore."

"Amber, please-"

"No, Alfie! I'm sorry! We're…we're not meant to be." She threw the suitcase down on the floor and wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm so sorry. I can't take LA anymore, I just can't. I can't stand not having money."

"We're engaged, though," he had protested weakly.

She rolled her eyes. "We're never going to have enough money for a wedding. You said it yourself: Vegas. Well, I'm not that type of girl. I don't love you enough!"

And that's what kept him from going after her, kept him rooted to his place on the bed. He watched as she packed the rest of her things, called a cab, and offered him a smile.

She'd whispered, "Here," and thrown a wad of cash on the bed. "This month's rent. I know you don't have it."

And that was also the thing that kept him loving her. She still cared, even if she wouldn't admit it. But she never did admit it, because she left only a short five minutes later, taking every last piece of her, only leaving the money.

It's like that's all she could stand to give of herself. A few pieces of crinkled paper. And he hated her for it, but he hated himself more.

He's so lost in his thoughts, he doesn't notice the girl darting past him. He doesn't pull his foot back in time. The heel of her black boot catches it and she goes crashing down next to him.

"I'm sorry!" Alfie exclaims, reaching forward.

The girl keeps her head down, trying to untangle herself from her legs. "It's fine. I'm sorry. My fault."

He notices the scrape on her knee and touches the skin hesitantly. "You cut yourself. Why don't I go get a first aid kit?"

She keeps her head down, but sits on the floor. "Okay."

He leaves and comes back a moment later with a bandage and some ointment. Gently, he spreads it on the cut, and smoothes on the band-aid.

"Scooby Doo?" She asks with an incredulous laugh.

"The very best," Alfie jokes. "He solves mysteries _and_ protects common household scrapes from germs!"

The girl laughs and looks up. For a moment, they just stare at each other. Alfie's stomach clenches and unclenches itself.

"Piper?" He asks at last.

The girl tilts her heads and understanding dawns on her features. "Alfie! Oh! Wow!" She leans forward to hug him, brushing her cheek against his. He sees her now. The same red hair, slightly pale skin, the full-lipped grin. How could he have not noticed?

"What are you doing here?" She asks as she pulls away. "I'm sorry I didn't notice before. I should have known it was you with the band-aid and all." She grins.

Alfie struggles to smile back. "Came here for open-mic night, actually."

"Really? I'm about to go onstage to play the piano."

"Oh?" Alfie raises his eyebrows. "Can I stay to watch?"

"Sure!" She exclaims, jumping up to clap her hands together. "And maybe afterwards we can go get coffee or something?"

He nods, grinning.

"Awesome!"

She walks away, toward the gap in the stage curtains, and he notices she's limping slightly. Great. Why does he have to be so clumsy?

Alfie starts forward as he hears her voice in the microphone, stopping to peek through the velvet curtains. She's just sitting down at a large black piano, smoothing her skirt as she does so. Her eyes dart back to meet his, and she grins. For a moment, Alfie feels his hope surge. Maybe she likes him but-ah, no. She's probably laughing at him, like all the others before.

She begins to play, then. Her fingers dance across the keys with shocking speed. The music that flows from the instrument sounds like something from an orchestra, like more than one person is playing at once. He watches, mesmerized, as her fingers move. She carries herself with an air of importance. He wishes he could still do that.

She finishes and everyone claps, him loudest of all. He doesn't even realize he's forgotten about his lousy night. He just thinks of her.

She turns and bows briefly before walking backstage, grabbing Alfie's wrist and jumping up and down.

"That went so well! Thank you for watching."

"Anytime," he said, his voice ringing with sincerity.

Her cell phone starts ringing and she looks at the caller ID. "Oh! That's my boyfriend. I've got to take this." She starts backing away, toward the exit. "I'll meet you at the Daily Grind café in five minutes, okay?"

He nods, feeling his happiness sink. There it goes, down, down, down. Out of reach. Out of _his_ reach.

He goes anyway, even though he shouldn't. Five minutes exactly and her car pulls in next to his. Punctual.

"Hey," she says, sliding out of the passenger seat. He can't help notice her eyes are a bit puffy, even in the dark.

"Is everything okay?" He says, opening the door to the café for her.

She nods. "Fine." But there's something strange in her voice.

They both order lattes with extra whipped cream, and Alfie laughs. After a few seconds, she joins him.

"I guess we have similar tastes, huh?" He asks as they take their drinks and sit down at one of the many tables.

She smiles. "Guess so."

They sit and sip at their coffee slowly, making small talk. Alfie asks about Patricia, who's doing well as a veterinarian.

"And you?" Alfie says. "What do you want to do?"

She pauses and then sighs. "Compose music. But people don't want to hear piano pieces. They want stuff that can be played on the radio. I've been trying for five years and I just want to give up."

He nods slowly. "I know how you feel. But…if you could have seen yourself on stage tonight, you wouldn't say that. You looked…different, somehow. Happier."

"I am," she says, twirling her coffee with one finger. "Lots happier when I play. It's my means of escape." She grins. "So, enough about me. How are you and Amber?"

Alfie freezes as a thousand memories rush back to him. He clears his throat. He avoids Piper's searching eyes.

"We…broke up," he says at last. "Or, she broke up with me."

"Oh," Piper says. "I'm sorry." She sounds like she means it, too.

Alfie offers her a smile. "I guess I wasn't enough for her."

Piper puts her hand over his on the table. The gesture is so sudden, he freezes and looks down. His eyes dart up once, and then he just stares.

"Don't say that, Alfie. You are perfectly good enough. You're great. Amber just…I'm guessing she wasn't enough for you. She must have known it, too. You guys never were the most compatible, if you don't mind my saying so."

He grins. "Not at all. You're the first person who's told me that."

"Because I care."

They walk back out to their cars, hands twitching, wanting to hold onto each other but being afraid to.

"I had fun," Piper says as they stop by their cars.

Alfie smiles at her. "Yeah."

"Maybe you can call me sometime?" She scribbles her number on his hand and grins. "Now you can't lose it, either."

"So you expect a call?"

"I expect a call."

He stares at the numbers and smiles. "Okay, then."

She smiles and turns away. But he stops her by putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Piper-"

She whirls and stretches up on her toes to press her lips to his. Alfie freezes for a moment and then relaxes. Gently, his hands meet her waist. They felt like they were meant to be there.

"Don't give up," she says as she pulls away, keeping her eyes closed. "Amber was an idiot to leave you, but you can't let things like that drag you down."

Alfie can only fathom one thing. "I thought you had a boyfriend?"

She grins and holds up her phone. "We broke up. Well, I broke up with him."

He looks at her with confusion. "Why?"

She swallows looks up at him, grins. "I'll explain on our first date. You and me. Open-mic night. Next Thursday."

He smiles. "I'll be there."


	3. Amber

Hi Guys! :)

Sorry, I'm late again on updating. Argh!

So, it's been a busy week. That's why I haven't updated. I do hope you like this chapter, though. Are there any Amber fans out there? *raises hand* I like her character in HOA because I think she's smarter than she lets on. :) I still love Jerome, though! Haha.

Anyway, thanks! Feedback? I love reviews!

-Homey :D

**Disclaimer: **HOA doesn't belong to me. But I still love it!

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p><strong>Amber<strong>

"Bend slightly over. Yes; like that. Push your hair over your shoulder. Perfect! Purse your lips. Smile. Yes. Hold that."

She struggles to keep the smile on her face as Pierre snaps photo after photo of her. Several different angles. Good ones and bad ones. The kind that make you look fat when you're not and too skinny to be healthy.

"Am I done?" She asks at last. When he nods, she stands up and sighs. "Good, because I'm totally beat and I need a soy latte and my nails are chipping-"

Instantly several people rush off to get her what she wants. Amber Millington smiles, satisfied. Pierre hands her a fluffy pink robe to wear over her black slip. Modeling intimate wear seems awfully low to her, but whatever. She'll take what she can get, even if it means strutting around in front of cameras in her underwear for six hours. Six, excruciatingly long hours.

Someone hands her a soy latte and rushes off before Amber can thank them. She sips at the coffee slowly, keeping her eyes trained on her feet. The pedicure from yesterday is already chipping, making the nails look unprofessional and choppy. She is _so_ getting a refund later.

"Here's some nail polish," a young guy says, thrusting handful of bottles at her. His brown bangs fall forward into his eyes, and he is several inches taller than her. "Take your pick."

Amber plucks a peach color from the mix and offers the man a smile. "Thank y-"

She is cut off as someone calls her name-Pierre again-and turns to him with a forced smile.

"Yes?" She says as chipper as she can manage.

He smirks. "You're done for the day. Go now! I'll see you tomorrow."

Amber sighs gratefully and heads back to her "dressing room" which is about the size of a janitor's closet. It's laughable, really.

She worms her way into her too-small sweatshirt and skinny jeans. Her life was much better when she was with him. At least she had clothes that fit. But that day she left, after she overstayed her welcome at her mother's house and was set off on her own, she had to sell all her designer clothes for money. She just managed to pay her first month's rent. New York is pricey. And her condo is crappy.

After her first paycheck, she bought a bunch of clothes from Goodwill, which really weren't so bad, except for the fact that she had grown up on money and all things fashionable and preppy. Her current wardrobe, her house, her _life_…they are none of those. She is poor and trashy and strictly lower class.

"Bye, Ellen," Amber says to the receptionist as she let herself out of the several-story building, only a few minutes later.

Ellen smiles fondly at the young girl. "Have a nice evening."

"Yeah, right," Amber mumbles under her breath as the door swings closed behind her.

Within no time she stands before her apartment, balancing a box of pizza in one hand and her keys in the other. She lets herself in and sets the pizza down on the counter in the galley kitchen. It is dank, and dark, and she thinks she smells mold again.

Eating the pizza reminds her of him, so she can only manage to down two pieces. She shoves the rest in the very back of her small fridge, then thinks better of it and throws it away. It doesn't matter that she spent ten dollars on the darn thing. She doesn't want any reminders of him. She can't take it.

They used to be in love, really. When she was nineteen, and naïve, so stupid and shallow. When he asked her to go to Los Angeles with him, her answer was an unequivocal yes. She would go anywhere with him.

Life wasn't like in the books or movies, though. There was nothing glamorous about living paycheck to paycheck. They scrambled to make ends meet, along with working awful jobs and waiting for their careers to take off. They never did, though. Amber waited and waited. She waited for five years.

One morning she woke up and looked over at him and she knew. She knew she couldn't live like she was anymore. The look on his face when he saw her packing still haunts her. It still…

She chokes on the soda she is drinking and dumps the rest down the drain. She feels sick. She can't stand to remember. It hurts too much.

Slowly, she goes and lowers herself down onto her couch. She pulls out her cell phone. His number used to be programmed into it. He was the only guy that she ever kept on speed dial, besides Mick, but he came before Alfie and Alfie was better.

Maybe she should call him. Sure, he's been deleted as a contact but she still remembers his number. The seven digits that felt so much like home.

She starts to dial but then gives up, throwing her phone across the room. It bounces off a wall and lands on her dented hardwood, unscathed. Thank goodness. She couldn't have afforded a new one.

Amber leans forward and buries her head in her hands, crying quietly. Occasionally, the enormity of her mistake hits her and she's rendered powerless, weak. She wants to drag herself back over to him and beg for forgiveness. But that would be giving up. She doesn't do that easily.

The doorbell rings and her head bobs up. She wipes the tears from her eyes as she shuffles across the room and calls out a strangled, "Coming!"

She cracks the door and peers through, frowning as she takes in a guy leaning against the wall. He's vaguely familiar. She peers closer at his tousled brown hair, matching eyes, and dimpled smile. Oh. It's the guy who gave her the nail polish today.

"Amber? Hi. Here," he says, holding out an envelope. "I needed to give this to you."

Amber takes it and frowns down at the back. It's blank, but the flap is sealed.

"I think it's a check," the guy says. "From Pierre. An advance, you know, for the add you're doing."

"Oh, okay," Amber says.

When he makes no move to leave, she nods her head down the hall.

"Do you know the way out?"

He jumps and blushes. "Uh, yeah. I'm sorry. I was just-" He turns and then seems to think better of it.

"Look," he says, facing her. "I'm just going to come out and say it. I think you're pretty-no, I think you're gorgeous. I've been watching you the past week and you seem really great and down to earth and…" He pauses, catching his breath, while she stares at him, dumbstruck. The words aren't quite getting through to her.

"And…?" She asks after a moment.

He holds up his hands. "Will you-would you go out with me?"

She shakes her head before he's done speaking. "No. I'm busy that night."

His features crumple. "I didn't even say what night."

"Well, I'm busy every night," she snaps, pursing her lips. "Goodnight."

When she moves to close the door, he sticks his foot out, blocking her from closing it all the way.

"Please move," she says in a carefully controlled tone. "Now."

"I just…" He frowns. "Please tell me, was it something I said? I'm really sorry if I did something wrong. I didn't think you were dating anyone. Are you?" For a moment, he looks horrified. "Oh, god. You are, aren't you? I'm really sorry. I should have figured you have a boyfriend-"

"I don't," Amber says.

"Oh."

"But I recently broke up." Even though it was a year ago. And he's moved on. Patricia told her about them. Everyone knows. It's humiliating, although she's sure it was bad for him when she left him. But it's not fair for him to forget her. It's not-

"I know how that is."

She looks back up at him. He's looking at the ground, and his jaw is clenched.

"Yeah."

He looks up again, brown eyes flashing. "I'll see you around."

She nods and keeps her eyes trained on the ground. "See ya."

He goes without word. As she shuts and locks the door, she realizes she didn't even ask for his name. But he knew hers.

Even as she goes and takes a shower, changes into her pajamas, thinks about it…she would have stayed, if only the circumstances had been different. She still clings to him. Even though it was _her_ who left, it still hurts.

Then she's packing. Like that day a year ago. All her belongings, which are even more meager than the first time, are stuffed in her suitcase. It zips easily this time.

She shoves her toothbrush and hairbrushes and makeup in a zip lock bag, leaving her strawberry shampoo in the shower. She hates the smell, anyway. Her hair is pulled back, and she throws a coat over her pajamas.

She doesn't know where she's going, even as she scribbles a note to the landlord. Just that she must leave, and fast. She adds her keys to the letter and drops them in the number 1 mailbox on the way out. Dana will get it tomorrow. She will understand.

She hails a taxi, a man she convinces to take her halfway out of New York for a hefty price. Somewhere with a train station. Somewhere that can take her far away, where she can forget her life and start over.

But before she can go, really and completely go, she has to do something first.

The studio is still open, and Pierre is inside. Without word, Amber hands him her advance and explains she's dropping out of the add. Then she asks for the address of the guy who gave her the nail polish.

"Stephen?" Pierre asks. "He lives in the apartments across the street."

"Thanks," Amber says, hurrying toward the door. "For everything."

She finds him quickly. He's sitting outside, on a bench, puffing on a cigarette. He looks up when she sits beside him and freezes.

"Those things give you lung cancer, you know."

"Yeah," he says, flicking the embers to the ground. "I know."

Amber stares at him, unblinking, until he holds the white stick out to her.

"Thanks," she sighs, taking it. She holds it to her lips gingerly. A second later, she's coughing and sputtering.

"That's disgusting!" She exclaims when she can breathe.

He takes it from her and throws it out onto the sidewalk, where a light drizzle quickly puts it out. Amber hadn't even realized it was raining.

"Life sucks sometimes," the guy says suddenly.

Amber sighs wistfully. "It can. And then…it's perfect."

"Like when?"

She pauses. "Like when I was a teenager. I solved two Egyptian mysteries and was a total airhead. I dated two guys and had best friends and almost died, because I was haunted by a spirit. This creepy guy, Victor, ruled the house and had a stuffed black crow he kept with him. We even had an evil housekeeper come stay with us."

"Huh," he says, without hesitation. "Cool."

Amber smiles at him. "What, no 'you're crazy'?"

He rolls his eyes. "In this world, there's no such thing as crazy. We all belong in straightjackets."

"Agreed."

They sit for a while before Amber speaks.

"I came to tell you I'm leaving."

"Oh. Okay."

She raises her eyebrows. "Just okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, I like you and all, but you're not the love of my life."

"That's a good thing."

"Absolutely."

She stands, brushes invisible dust from her pajama pants, and offers him a wearied smile. "Goodnight. For real, this time."

He grins at her. "Goodnight."

As she turns to go, she feels his eyes on her. But she keeps walking. She ducks into the taxi and keeps her head down.

She's going. She doesn't know here, but she's going.


	4. Jerome

Hi Guys! :)

Well, here it is. A Jara fanfic!

I love writing about them. Jerome and Mara are easily my favorite pairing on HOA, and Jerome is my favorite character.

If you haven't heard the news already: THERE'S GONNA BE A SEASON 3!

I'm excited! :D Yay-hopefully more Jerome/Mara action and stuff. It's going to be awesome.

The only thing this, Nathalia Ramos won't be coming back to continue the role of Nina. :P That stinks. Oh well. My bets are that Fabian and Joy are gonna end up back together. Argh!

Anyways, enjoy! :) I love the reviews!

-Homey :D

**Disclaimer:** HOA doesn't belong to me.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p><strong>Jerome<strong>

He walks home in the rain, head ducked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his brown trench coat. People pass him, surreptitiously stealing glances his way. His shoulders tense when he senses the eyes on him. Maybe he really does need a new coat; Mara said this one called too much attention to him. But he likes it-he likes people to wonder where he came from and where he is going. It fits his job perfectly.

He comes to the little two-story house they bought a year ago, when they got engaged. His ring still sits on her finger, waiting to be joined by another one within the next month. He can't wait for the wedding.

She opens the door right as his hand touches the handle. Her smile is wide with exuberance, skirt and cardigan smoothed to perfection, not a black hair out of place. She opens her arms right as he does, and he lifts her off the ground, spinning her in a perfect circle as their lips meet.

"You're wet," she says as they pull apart. He sets her down, takes her face in his hands. A scarlet blush creeps up into her cheeks. "I've missed you."

"You look beautiful," he says, kissing her forehead.

She smiles, holding his wrists, wanting to lock his hands there forever. "Thank you. I have dinner ready, if you want it."

"Sure," he says, following her as she goes inside. He shrugs his coat off and hangs it up, followed by his shoes. "How was your day?"

"Fantastic," she says, heading towards the kitchen. "You go sit down; I'll bring the food in just a moment."

"No way," he replies, pushing he sleeves of his sweater up his arms. He follows her into the cheery kitchen, a bright yellow. It's nothing fancy; the paint is chipping and the countertops are scratched, but he loves it. "How can I help?"

"Well," she says, shooting him a sly smile. "You could go open the oven and take tonight's chicken out."

"Sure." He opens the over door and laughs. "That's not chicken! It's-"

"Meatloaf, your favorite," she says with an expectant smile as he takes the small pan out and sets it on the counter. "I figured you deserved a treat."

"Well, thank you much," he says with a laugh, turning and kissing her square on the lips, in earnest.

"Jerome!" She reprimands with a laugh under his lips. "Not before dinner."

"I think before dinner kisses are the best ones," he says with a smirk, arms snaking around her waist. He lifts her up onto he counter, so they're eye-to-eye.

"It's not fair for you to be so tall," she says with a pout, reaching out to run a hand through his tousled hair. "I wish I was that tall."

"I think you're perfect."

She rolls her eyes, leaning in for one more, lingering kiss. "All right, lets eat now, shall we?"

He smiles, taking her hand. "We shall."

Dinner is set on the table and they sit down to eat.

"I had my wedding dress fitting today," she says after a long moment, struggling to keep the excitement from her voice.

"You did?"

"Uh-huh, and Jerome…it looks great." She can't help it; she beams.

He takes her hand across the table and kisses her palm. "I'm sure you'll look stunning. Actually, scratch that, I _know _you'll be breathtaking. You already are."

She slides her hand out from his, keeping her eyes trained on the white lace tablecloth. She traces a the pattern with her finger. "I have some news."

"You do?"

"I do." She looks up at him, drawing a deep breath. "Other than the regular wedding news and such. It's just, I've been waiting for the right time to tell you that-"

His phone rings, and she frowns. He looks at her before smiling and flicking it open, hitting "ignore" and turning the volume down within a matter of seconds.

"Calls can wait," he says.

She shakes her head. "Jerome, you have clients-"

"That can wait. If they want to hire a private investigator, they'll need to get good at waiting."

She smiles. "I like hearing you say that."

He smirks. "Waiting."

"Not that, dummy!" She leans across the table to whisper in his ear, "Private investigator."

"Mm…you do?"

"Quite a lot, actually."

Dinner is momentarily forgotten as their lips meet, and he sweeps her up in his arms, heading straight for the couch in the living room.

"Jerome," she protests as he lays down, settling her on top of his stomach. "I'm going to crush you." Her face is bright red.

"Sorry, Mara, but this happens to be a very compromising position and you're not crushing me at all. So don't move. Just come back down here."

"I…I can't," she admits, grabbing hold of her stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick. Oh-" With that she untangles herself from him and rushes toward the bathroom, skirt flapping behind her.

He chuckles, sitting up, and then follows her. His smile fades as he hears the sound of her throwing up, and he quickens his pace. He makes it just in time to hold back her hair as she rids her stomach of the last of its contents. She stands, flushes the toilet, and rinses her mouth with water before turning back to him.

"Apparently something I ate didn't agree with me."

He touches her cheek. "I guess not. You're still lovely, though."

"Oh, Jerome," She sighs, leaning against his chest. They stand there before she ever so slowly grabs his hand and guides it forward, up under the edge of her sweater, to lie gently against her stomach.

He balks, not sure what she is implying.

"Jerome?" She asks after a long moment, and he relaxes at the sound of her voice. "What do you feel?"

"Happy," he replies without hesitation. "Why?"

"No…how does my stomach feel?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "Normal, I suppose. Why?"

She sighs. "Of course you don't feel it, but I do. Jerome-" She pulls away to look him in the eyes. His blue eyes she loves so much. "We're going to have a baby."

He laughs. "Nice joke, Mara. Funny."

She looks strangely hurt, and it takes him a moment to realize she's dead serious. She's pregnant. He, Jerome Clarke, is going to be a father.

"Oh hell," he whispers after a moment. "That's…wow."

She purses her lips. "Not what you were expecting, eh?"

His eyes grow wide and his hands begin to shake. "When?"

She laughs. "I don't know…seven months, perhaps?"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall for support. She stands there, twisting her hands, waiting.

"That's why I made your favorite food tonight. I thought we'd eat and then go sit on the couch and watch a movie and then I could tell you. But-" She pauses, running a hand lightly over her stomach. "He…or she…had something different in mind."

He still can't bring himself to speak. It's too much to comprehend.

"Jerome." She says, laying her hand on his shoulder. "We're getting married in a month. We'll still be able to go on our honeymoon. Nothing will change-except we'll have a baby fairly soon."

He finally looks up at her. Her smile has faded into an unsure sort of half grin, and her hands-twisting nervously before-have stilled.

"Mara, I'm sorry," he says, reaching forward and pulling her into his arms.

She buries her face in his shirt and sighs. "What for?"

"For reacting that way. I'm happy. Thrilled-even. It's just a surprise, that's all."

She tilts her head back, kissing him quickly. "Okay."

He smoothes her hair back with his hand. "And you're okay, right? Was cooking today too much for you? We can order out tomorrow if we need to-"

She stops him with a giggle. "Jerome, it's fine. We're fine."

"Both you and the baby?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, good then." He takes her hand and pulls her toward the couch. "Wait until I tell Poppy. Oh, and my father. He's going to be thrilled!"

Mara squeals excitedly, just imagining the reaction of their friends and family. "Well, let's just wait until our first check up, okay?"

"Okay. But then we'll have to call everyone-Alfie and Fabian and Patricia."

"Don't forget Amber and Joy," Mara reminds him.

"I won't. We'll make a list."

She smiles as he sits down, guiding her into his lap. Without word, they lean back and turn on the TV. It flickers to life and they pick a cheesy movie that's playing on reruns.

It's not long before Mara's snoring in his arms. Jerome looks down at her with love, love even stronger than what he had for her as a teen. He remembers how quickly he fell for her, until she was the only thing that mattered to him. She was his world.

He was stupid back then, and undeserving of her. He still thinks he is. It seems like a little miracle every day that he wakes up and she's there next to him, sleeping soundly. It seems a miracle every time she looks at him with a love that matches his own.

And it seems like a miracle that right now, growing in her stomach, is their baby. A baby who will be with them in a matter of months.

She's a miracle.


	5. Patricia

Hi Guys! :D

Yay-another chapter. I actually managed to update reasonably this time! Whoo! ;)

Okay, so news: I'm having a contest! It has the very creative name of AlmostSummer Writing Contest. :D

I'd love it if you'd enter. Check it out on my page. I had to list it under a category (:P) so I chose "Hunger Games" but you can write about whatever you want for the contest. The rules/guidelines are listed on the post. :D PM me any questions!

Thanks so much!

Okay, so here's a "Peddie" chapter! ;) I love this pairing, too. In the first season I thought, "Patricia and Jerome?" but those two would NOT have worked. Only Jara works! SO there!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was fun to write!

Thanks! *hugs*

Homey :)

**EDIT: **

I forgot to add the disclaimer! :D

**Disclaimer: **HOA doesn't belong to me.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p><strong>Patricia<strong>

Patricia hadn't wanted her day to be like this.

In all honesty, waking up next to Eddie this morning had been nice. He'd slept over again last night. All they'd done was watch horrible comedy movies. She wasn't the kind to put out-not that he wanted her to. And really, this morning had been nice. Breakfast together, drawing cartoon mustaches on pictures of dignified men in the paper; it was all great fun.

But then she opened her drawers.

"Eddie, you weasel!" She yells, pounding on the bathroom door where he is currently changing. "What did you do with my clothes?"

She hears him laugh-that stupid American laugh of his-but says nothing.

"I have a job interview today. Tell me where!"

The door flies open and he stands there, hair glistening with water, a smirk playing across his features. It takes her a moment to realize he is only wearing a towel.

"Ah, Patricia. All in good time, you'll see."

She lets out a little squeal of frustration and turns, darting back for her bedroom, where she takes refuge in her closet as Eddie dresses. This, too, is painfully empty. The only clothes she has now are the ones she wore to bed-her tiny little gym shorts, and a faded tee shirt. Clothes that are definitely not appropriate for a job interview.

"Tell me where!" She yells through the door.

She hears the rustle of fabric as he dresses. "Nope-sorry. There's a little scavenger hunt you have to go on to find it all."

"I'm wearing freaking tiny shorts and a freaking tee shirt, Eddie!" She says. Her face is getting redder by the minute. If she were a cartoon character, there'd be smoke pouring from her ears. "TELL ME WHERE!"

"Whoa, Patricia! Slow down!" He opens the door and grins down at her. "Don't go all Victor on me."

She resists the urge to punch him and stands. He offers her his hand, but she lightly smacks it away.

"Tell me where, Eddie. This instant."

He just smiles. "You have to find them."

"WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND MY CLOTHES IN THIS BLASTED APARTMENT, HUH? WHERE."

He flinches, rubbing his ears. "Geez, Patricia. I think my ears are bleeding."

"Good!" She marches off, toward her kitchen, grabbing her car keys on the way. She hates her stupid apartment with the front door right by the countertops. She hates her stupid, junky car with crappy gas mileage. And right now, she kind of hates her boyfriend.

"Where are you going?" He exclaims, jogging up behind her.

She curls her lip at him. "To the store to buy an outfit." As she bends over to pick her purse up off the floor, Eddie snatches the keys from her hand.

She turns to face him, her voice a deadly calm. "Give me the keys."

He shimmies to the side. "What? I couldn't hear you."

She takes a deep breath. "Give me the keys."

He cups his hand around his ear, leaning closer. "What was that?"

"GIVE ME THE KEYS, EDDIE. OR I WILL BREAK UP WITH YOU."

His face falls instantly and she sees the twinkle leave his eyes. He knows she's not kidding. She's done it before. Granted, it lasted all of five minutes, but it was a terrible five minutes.

"Fine," he says with a deep sigh. He still cradles the keys to his chest. "At least drive me home so I don't have to hang out here all day?"

"I want to know where my clothes are."

"Drive me home."

"Tell me where my clothes are."

"Just _drive me home_ and I'll tell you."

She is torn, wondering if the second she pulls into his driveway he'll dash inside and leave her clothes-less, or if indeed he'll spill. Finally, she relents, deciding he has the upper hand in this battle. She _needs_ her gray pencil skirt and lavender jumper.

"Fine," she grumbles, heading for the door. "Let's go."

Eddie won't give her the keys until they're both seated in the car, seat belts buckled. When he does, she snatches them from him angrily, putting the car into reverse. Slowly, she backs out of her parking space, switches to drive, and hits the gas.

The car lurches forward and Eddie bangs his elbow against the passenger door. Patricia allows herself a small smile at that.

"Why don't I drive?" He says after a few minutes of choppy driving.

Patricia rolls her eyes. "Not happening. I need to practice to get used to these stupid American roads. Honestly-it drives me crazy!"

"It's going to drive you crazy when you get a two hundred dollar ticket," he mumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She smiles, rolling her eyes, and turns to him. "I still love you, you know."

He looks out the window and doesn't answer.

The rest of the drive is spent in slightly painful silence. She stares straight ahead, concentrating on the busy road, and he taps his fingers against his leg.

"Here we are!" She says at last, pulling up in front of his house. It's a gorgeous, two-story brick home that his dad bought for him. Eddie jokes that it's a bribe so he'll return to England more often. Patricia thinks it was just a nice gesture.

"Do you want to come inside?" He asks in a flat voice, staring at his hands in his lap. He doesn't meet her eyes.

"N-" She begins, then reconsiders. "For a few minutes, I guess."

He stands without word and slams the car door, heading for his front door. She follows rather reluctantly.

A few moments later, they are both sitting in the living room, staring at each other. Patricia breaks Eddie's gaze by letting her eyes dart swiftly around the room. She just loves it here. The wood floor is beautiful and the walls are an elegant brown. But not a dark color-it's gorgeous and plays with the light that flows in from the windows.

"I love it here," she says wistfully, unable to think of anything else.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck. "Really?"

She nods, smiling. "Really. I should spend more nights over here."

"Um yeah…" He throws a fleeting glance toward the stairs that lead up to the second story. "I think you left something of yours in my room last time you were here, by the way."

"Oh?" Patricia asks, raising her eyebrows. She stands. "I'd be glad to have anything of mine back at this point." She glares at him, her tone full of implications.

He ignores that and instead heads for the stairs. "Come see."

"Okay…"

She treks up the steep stairs, keeping her eyes on his back. She can see she's really hurt him this morning with all her threats and name-calling. But that's their relationship. It's delightfully messed up. Still, she should have been nicer.

"Eddie-" Patricia begins, stepping into his room, then stops.

There's a new dresser in his room. A picture of her is sitting on top.

"It's in there," Eddie says, pointing toward the dresser.

Patricia approaches slowly, already sure of what's inside. Her hands are shaking as she tugs the drawer open.

She's right. All her shirts.

She opens the next few drawers, wondering if this is some kind of dream. There are her jeans, and her skirts, and even her undergarments. She blushes a bit when she imagines Eddie handling her bras but quickly brushes the thought away.

"I…" She turns around to find he's holding the closet door open. It's a huge closet, a space that was barely used before. Now it's full of her things. Her dresses and her jumpers-the lavender one, she notes-and her shoes. Tears well up in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry-" She chokes out, but he stares at the ground.

"I guess this is my way of asking if you'll move in."

She wipes a tear off her cheek and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his cheeks.

"Of course I will, you dear boy. I'm so sorry Eddie. I'm so sorry."

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around her waist. "If you're going to act this way after every time you're mean to me, I'm going to be annoying more often."

She pulls her head back and secures her lips to his. She pulls back a moment later, keeping her forehead against his.

"I love you."

He brings his hand up to cradle her face. "I love you, too." Then he grins. "So you'll move in with me?"

"Are you kidding?" She steps away, throwing her hands up. "Live in a beautiful house that I love with the guy I'm madly in love with? Of course I will!" She jumps up and down, letting out a girlish squeal. "Oh, Eddie. Thank you!"

He smiles. "You're welcome."

She cancels her job interview right away-it wasn't one she wanted anyway-and instead spends the day moving the rest of her stuff in. By nightfall she's in a new house, the old apartment a distant memory.

"However did you move all my clothes anyway?" She asks as they fall asleep that night. Her head is on his chest, and his arms are around her.

He chuckles. "Let's just say you're a sound sleeper."

She smiles, tilting her head back to look at him. "I love you, weasel."

"You too, Yacker."


	6. Joy

Hi Guys!

Wow-thank you tons for all of your reviews. YAY! I love them! *hugs*

Don't forget to check out my AlmostSummer Writing Contest. (!)

Thanks! EnJOY! ;)

-Homey :)

**Disclaimer: **HOA doesn't belong to me.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, or at least this actual post is. The characters, not so much. But anyway, please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p><strong>Joy<strong>

"Here you go, Miss Jane, I'm so very sorry!"

"Late again, Joy?" A middle-aged woman says from behind a tall desk. She raises her eyebrows. "Mr. Schmidt is not going to be pleased."

Joy sets down the envelope on the desk when Jane doesn't take it.

"I know, and I apologize. Tell him I said as much. But this is a groundbreaking story, really. He'll want to run it."

"We'll see. He's already left the office, seeing as it's six o'clock."

Joy buries her head in her hands and groans. "Oh dear. I'm getting fired, aren't I? I knew this was going to happen!"

"Well, sweetie, you're not getting fired," Jane says, patting Joy's head like she's a dog. "Because you were never hired. Remember: this was on a _trial_ basis. But you chose not to have the articles in on time, so…"

Joy's face crumples, and she struggles not to cry. "A-all right. Goodbye."

She trudges from the newspaper office with weighted steps, then realizes what Jane said. It's six o'clock. She's late for her shift!

She leaps into her car and coaxes the car to maximum speed, keeping an eye out for police as she does so. The roads of this up-and-coming English village are mostly deserted. The little population that does live here works mostly day jobs. Except for Joy. She has to stay up all night at the twenty-four-hour grocery store.

She pulls into the empty parking lot and hurries toward the back door, where all the employees enter. Hanna, the night shift manager, is already inside. Her feet are propped up on her desk and she's smacking gum, twirling her blonde ponytail around her finger. Joy freezes when she sees her.

"You're late again, Mercer. That's the fourth time in two weeks."

"I'm sorry. You can take it out of my pay."

Hanna gives her a friendly smile. "Naw, I'm not gonna do that. But don't be late again, or else Rupert's gonna make me report it to the boss-man." She rolls her eyes. "I like you, Mercer. You've got determination. I feel like we could both learn something from each other, seeing as I want to get out of this hell-hole, and I think you do, too."

Joy nods in earnest. "I do. I want to be a journalist."

Hanna nods her approval. "Nice, Mercer, nice. Now, get your scrawny little butt on the floor and help Rupert before he has an aneurism. It's like, not even busy and he's freaking out."

Joy nods and heads over to the employee coatroom. Quickly, she switches her jacket for an apron. She ties it neatly over her clothes and heads toward one of the checkout areas, waving goodbye to Hanna as she goes.

Rupert stands at the register, talking to a customer. It's a heavy-set, balding man with sweat on his brow. He holds a carton of milk in his hands.

"And if you warm it up and add a pinch of nutmeg," Rupert is saying as Joy draws closer. "Your little rascals will go right to sleep."

"You don't say so?"

"Absolutely. Being a single dad is hard, I know."

Joy takes her place by the bags, waiting for the man to hand her the milk so he'll leave. She hates the night shift.

"I'll have to give that a try-thank you, uh…" The man peers closer at Rupert's nametag. "Rupert? Blimey, I haven't heard that name in ages!"

Rupert nods, smiling. "My mum is a tad old-fashioned."

"But that's a good thing, I see. You're a fine lad! Thanks for all the help. A bloke like me can hardly get anyone to take him seriously."

Rupert shrugs. "I take everyone seriously. It's no problem."

"Well, thanks. You have a lovely evening." He turns and seems to notice Joy for the first time, giving her a nod. "You as well."

"Cheers," Joy snaps, giving him a fake smile. He shakes his head a little and marches away, toward the exit.

"Having fun chatting up the customers?" She asks as the man disappears.

Rupert rolls his eyes. "Yes, in fact. I am having fun." He looks at her with disdain. "You're late again. Ten minutes late. I can't keep this from Richard anymore, Joy. I'll have to tell him."

"Oh, so you and the boss are on a first name basis? How cute."

He gives her a warning look. "Joy…"

"No, it's fine." She shrugs, looking down, struggling to swallow the tears that are working their way up her throat. "I understand."

He studies her for a moment. "Is something wrong?"

She glares at him and then notices an old lady heading for them. Rupert gives her one last lingering glance then turns to the woman.

"We'll talk later," he mumbles.

For the next forty-five minutes they bag groceries, make small talk with the customers, and flash them faux-friendly smiles. Well, Joy does. Each grin Rupert offers the people seems to be genuine.

He carries the older lady's groceries out to her car, and helps a working mother who's in her nursing scrubs with her grocery bill. She's ten dollars short, and he gladly takes the money form his wallet and puts it in the cash register, against her protests.

_He really is a good person_, Joy thinks, as she gently lays a carton of eggs in the bottom of a paper sack. _Nicer than most guys I know_.

At last the throng of customers thins out, and they're left alone, busying themselves with their cell phones.

Joy tries not to listen in as Rupert dials a number and then says,

"Hi, mom. Can I talk to Maggie?"

Joy watches as his face lights up.

"Hi, sweetie. Be good for grandma, okay?" He pauses, and Joy finds herself studying him unashamedly.

"I know, and I'll see you in the morning. I love you. Okay. Sweet dreams."

He hangs up a moment later and his eyes slide over to Joy, who is still staring. He laughs when he sees her bewildered expression.

"What's so funny?"

"Noting…I just, I guess I didn't know you had a daughter."

"Well, I do." He turns toward the shelves of candy lining the aisles and plucks to packages of skittles from them.

"You like these?"

Joy nods, and he throws a pack to her. She digs in her pocket and hands him a dollar, but he waves it off, instead paying for both himself.

"How old is she?"

"Huh?" Rupert asks, biting down on a red skittle.

"Your daughter. Maggie?"

"Oh." He shakes a few into his palm and leans his head back, downing them all in a gulp. "Four."

Joy smiles. "She sounds cute."

"She is, thanks. She has her mom's red hair."

Joy studies Rupert's own simple, black locks and grins.

"I love red hair. I wish I had the complexion for it." She gestures to her face with disdain. "Instead I'm stuck with brown."

He shrugs. "It looks pretty on you."

"Oh." Joy's eyes widen. "I wasn't fishing for compliments, if that's what you think. I was just saying-"

"I know." He laughs. "But you really are very pretty."

"_Oh_," she says again, feeling stupid. She looks down at her hands. "I bet your girlfriend has pretty hair, too."

He shakes his head. "I don't have one. Well, I did. But after she had Maggie she took off and left her with me." He pauses to swallow a few more skittles. "I'm glad, though. I don't know what I'd do without my daughter."

Joy looks up, slightly awed. "That's brave of you to keep her."

He smiles faintly. "Everyone says it's stupid. No one except you has said it's brave. But I don't think so. I have an obligation to her. I have a commitment."

"I couldn't do it," she says wistfully. "I can barely take care of myself as it is." She slaps her hands on her legs and looks at the ceiling. "I missed by deadline for an article tonight and the paper let me go."

He stares right at her. Right through her.

"Is that you fishing for sympathy?"

"Maybe," she answers honestly. "Or maybe I just needed to tell someone."

Rupert smiles. "I'm not going to report you, Joy. I wasn't going to anyway. That was just me making an empty threat."

She bites her lip. "But I don't really deserve this job either."

"Maybe not," he allows after a moment. "But you're good at it."

She laughs. "Bagging groceries? Thanks."

He shakes his head. "Not that. Well, yeah, you are good at that. But you're also good with the customers. Charismatic."

"I could say the same for you."

He just shrugs modestly. "I like people. I always have."

They go back to work, then, because a person appears with two cartfuls of groceries. Joy is exhausted all night, and by the end of their twelve-hour shift, she can barely drag herself out to her car.

Rupert stops her, though, placing a hand on her arm.

"Do you...do you want to go get breakfast and some coffee?"

Joy smiles. "I'd love to."

So they go, and she has a good time. A really good time. He promises to see her that night.

She finds she can't wait.


	7. Author's Note: PLEASE READ

Hello!

I just wanted to begin by thanking you all for all of your support. **You Love Me** got a total 469 reviews, which is absolutely AMAZING. I am so grateful, I can't even begin to express how I feel. :)

I'm taking a break from writing **Thorns**, **V****iolet Sunset**, **Now**, and even **Being Grimm**-which I just recently began. I need to evaluate what sort of stories I want to write, and what kind of writing I do. I love writing-it's such a big part of my life-and I'm so glad to have shared it with you all. Thank you for your support, reviews, and favorites. I have read _every _review I've ever gotten for all of my stories, and I so appreciate each one. :D

I'm not going to quit these stories forever, per-say, but it's not fair to have you waiting for a new chapter if I'm not going to post. Enjoy your summer, and I'll see you again in the Fall!

Much thanks,

Homey :)


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